


A Rose is a Rose

by simmerup



Category: Anastasia (1997), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Attempted Murder, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Louis is Dimitri, M/M, Memory Loss, Oblivious Pining, WIP, an anastasia au, and ifi is to savaer what paris is to france, brief mentions of starvation and family death, but for now, harry is anya, harry is to arrow what anya is to anastasia, harry probably has some ptsd, i didn't want to do research so i made up all my own countries, i'll come back and add more tags as i go, i'll tag the smut better when i get there, i'm trying to cover as many bases as i can, it's kind of a mixture of the musical and movie, liam and zayn are harry's housemates and friends, niall is vlad, pryvoltov is to belos what st petersburg is to russia, there will be lots of anastasia easter eggs have fun, this is truly an alternate universe, whimsical like the movie but grittier than the musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:50:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simmerup/pseuds/simmerup
Summary: There was a time, not very long ago, when we lived in an enchanted world of elegant palaces and grand parties. My daughter, Anne, was the Queen of Imperial Belos. We were celebrating the 300th anniversary of our family’s rule, and that night, no star burned brighter than that of our sweet Arrow, my youngest grandson.He begged me not to return to Ifi, so I had a very special gift made for him to make the separation easier for both of us. A compass, set in gold and encrusted with small emeralds, the color of his eyes and mine. A promise that we would be together in Ifi soon. And to match, a ship - a pendant of solid gold hung from a chain that was far too large for him, once his grandfather's. The means to get there.But we would never be together in Ifi, for a dark shadow had descended upon the house of the Styles’. A secret, slipped through loose lips and in the wrong hands, banded the spark of unhappiness in Belos into a flame that would turn palaces to ash, parties to dust, and the royal family to ruin.So many lives were destroyed that night. What had always been was now gone forever.And my Arrow…my beloved grandchild.I never saw him again.An Anastasia AU.





	A Rose is a Rose

I:  _things i almost remember_

 

Harry woke in the dead of night to something burning.

He shot up in bed, his fingers already around his own neck like the grip would keep him from suffocating in the smoke. Something dark and sharp as a blade unfurled in his toes, his fingertips, spreading quickly through his veins until it reached the place where his heartbeat raced his panic. He fought the scream urging its way up his throat, but he couldn’t stop the panting, couldn’t stop the moisture gathering behind his squeezed-tight eyelids from falling down one side of his face.

The logical, awake voice in his head was a distant echo, but by now he knew how to listen for it, to ignore the other sounds. The screams, the tolling of bells. The crumbling, the crashing.

 _Not real_ , the voice said.

It was his own voice, he thought - just a different version of it. A younger one, perhaps.

_Open your eyes. It’s not real._

“Harry? Harry, wake up, I’m sorry. Harry?”

Harry opened his eyes and jerked away from the dark shadow hovering near him, but when his shoulder hit the iron curve of his bed frame, he saw that the dark figure was only Zayn.

“Harry?” he tried again, his whisper anxious but unconcerned beyond that. This was far from the first time he’s had to rescue Harry from his dreams. “I’m sorry, mate. A frost’s come; we had to build a fire, and - “

“Fire,” Harry breathed, trying to calm his panting. He lowered one hand from his throat but kept the other one mostly in place, just a little lower in order to grip the gold chain there.

“Yeah, man. I’m so sorry.”

Zayn’s hair was mussed, remnants of a troubled sleep, only visible because they still hadn’t gotten around to patching the hole in the roof above Harry’s room. Moonlight filtered in, glinted off Zayn’s dark, apologetic eyes.

Harry felt a dull throb in his shoulder. He wiped at his face and snorted. “It’s freezing in here.”

Finally, Zayn’s grimace melted, gave way to small, sleepy smile. “I know. Don’t worry, heat rises. You’ll be warm in no time.”

“Want me to fetch some firewood?”

“No, no. Liam’s already done it. Go back to sleep, H. Goodnight.”

The problem was that Harry wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Not now, and Zayn knew that. As he clambered down the wooden ladder, familiar creaks replacing the silence in their little home, he tossed Harry a final grimace. Or a tight-lipped smile. It was too dark to be sure.

Harry lay back, tugging his blanket up to his neck. He closed his eyes, already smelling the smoke from their fire. They didn’t light it often for this reason - the chimney hasn’t been cleaned in years. It’s probably clogged. Most of the smoke wound up trapped inside, bearable only thanks to the holes everywhere. The watermelon-sized one above Harry was far from the only one, and it certainly wasn’t the worst.

After a few moments of staring, Harry decided he quite liked this peek of sky above him. He liked being able to see the stars without having to be outside to do it. It was a nice way to avoid frozen fingers and toes, a numb nose. And the stars were beautiful out here; he was never in Pryvoltov during nightfall really, but he assumed the sky there was subdued, clouded by factory pollution. He assumed it wasn’t nearly this lovely. Harry hated Pryvoltov, even if it’s all he knew. He preferred their forest, though a small part of him hated it out here, too.

He pulled the pendant hanging from the gold chain around his neck out from beneath his shirt and his blanket. Once he caught the moonlight, he peered at the small ship, the intricate craftsmanship hardly visible in the night. But the backside was less complicated, less busy, and caught the moonlight far better. There, a single word was engraved and blackened over the years as if sunken in shadows as deep as the ones that swallowed Harry’s past. _Ifi._

Wetting his lips, he brushed a thumb over the word. It was the only clue he had to the mysterious first few years of his life. But it was a useless clue, as he’d never been, will probably never get to go. How could he? There was poverty, and then there was Harry, Liam, and Zayn. Most of Pryvoltov weren’t even aware they existed apart from a merchant or two who had caught Harry trying to steal a loaf of bread or a new pair of boots. But this was before he became as good a thief as he was at coming up with fake names for day jobs he’d abandon once the sun went down, only to find a different one the next time he went to the city. Even _that_ is a little ironic considering _Harry_ is probably as fake as the all the others. It’s just what Liam and Zayn took to calling him when they first encountered him fifteen years ago.

A boy with no name - or many names - and no past, coupled with no money, wasn’t exactly a shining candidate for securing a voyage pass across the sea to Sávaer. Especially when nobody was allowed to leave.

Still, even with little hope of ever making it there, Ifi was the only place Harry wanted to be, if only to satisfy his own curiosity. The necklace was the only thing he had from before his memory hit a wall. He just wanted to know what might be there.

 _Who_ might be there, waiting for him.

 

 

A few short hours later, Harry shucked off the blanket he’d been wrapped in for the better part of the morning and headed for the city. It was still early enough that his boots crunched through the stiff, glittering grassy path they’d worn down over the years. The frost hadn’t melted yet, the sun not far enough above the sprawling hills surrounding Pryvoltov.

Once, Harry hated climbing them back to their little home in the forest. His calves would throb, his feet ache. That was before the sinewy muscles in his legs fully formed, before he could appreciate the view from the top of those hills on his way to the city. The journey back home might be insufferable, but what could be seen just before he set off down them…sometimes, at least, it was worth it.

He’d left Zayn and Liam still asleep on their mattresses. He often woke before they did, especially when the temperatures began to drop. The gaping hole above his bed was nice for stargazing, but it offered little in terms of protection from nature’s inclinations, including these early frosts.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and that’s why he was going to the city today. They were all right on food, clothes. For now. But they wouldn’t last much longer in that house as it was. It was falling apart, had been ever since they’d brought him there all those years ago. It had never been stable enough to house them this long. They needed something else.

Harry would find that. It was the least he could do, even though he wasn’t exactly looking forward to living in Pryvoltov for the rest of his life, working some low-paying job that’ll eventually run him into the ground like every other citizen of this miserable city.

No, he wouldn’t do it for the rest of his life. Ifi was in his horizons. He just…didn’t know when. Or how.

 

~

 

“Watch it.”

Louis resisted the urge to snarl, his lip curling automatically as he was shouldered out of some asshole’s way. He paused there on the sidewalk, always one for dramatics, and let his gaze follow the man, hoping he’d glance back. But he didn’t, so Louis straightened his coat, adjusted his collar - torn on one side from catching it on a nail as he escaped through the doorway of a tavern after a meeting with a client gone wrong a month or so ago - and continued on his way.

Fuck this city. He hated it more every day, which he found hard to believe after all these years.

Keeping his head low, he clutched his hat to his head as he rounded a corner onto the street so few people ventured down he had to pay attention to where he put his feet. While anyone who struggled for money (most of Pryvoltov’s citizens) would give anything for a street sweeper job, it seems even the lowest of the low were unwilling to waste their time maintaining the avenue Louis still remembered to have once been the most glorious in all the city. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

There were less and less people as he neared the old palace. What used to be the towering pride of all of Belos looked a little pathetic now, still mostly covered in a thin layer of dirt and soot that years of weather hadn’t yet washed away. And although a large portion of the grand structure had been reduced to ash and rubble, enough of it still stood that Louis could imagine, just for a few moments at a time, that it had never burned.

Louis stopped staring through the chained front iron gate. He couldn’t enter that way anyway. He followed the gate toward the east side of the palace courtyard, around toward the back until the gate became a wall, solid and built from impenetrable stone. At least that’s what he’d thought as a child. But during the Dark Night, rebels had marched straight through it, destroying ten yards of the wall, and afterward apparently nobody deemed the damage necessary to fix. Apparently the old palace wasn’t exactly at the top of anyone’s list of things to care about, to remember.

It was better that way, Louis supposed, as he climbed over the familiar rocky path. He’s grown so familiar with every rise and dip in the destruction that he didn’t falter once, though anyone less experienced (or less determined, or less…murderous) might have struggled. He didn’t even scuff up the new boots he’d stolen last evening by the time he hopped off the last chunk of stone. He brushed the dust from his palms onto his trousers and started for the dirt path the palace servants used to use to reach the gardens at the back of the courtyard.

Though the front and any other main entrances had been boarded up, it was often hard to spot a servant entrance if one didn’t know where to look for it. Louis swung himself into a hidden alcove along the back of the palace’s east wing and listened to the quiet tapping of his new boots down the few brick steps before he pushed through the wooden door, a familiar creak turning his lips into a small smile.

Home. Or, as close to it as he’d probably ever come in this city.

The door brought him to one of the old kitchens, musty from disuse and too dark for Louis’ liking. He hurried through it. The hallway channels of the east wing were the same, and though they constantly set Louis on edge, he knew it was for the best. Though other servant entrances are still open, the one he’d used was the easiest to get to and likely the first place someone who found themselves too curious would go. If they could find it, that is. And though it was inconvenient to have to trek across half the palace, Louis knew that the more creepy, abandoned palace rooms he could keep between his living space and that unguarded entrance, the better.

When he finally reached his rooms - the same rooms he’d had as a child despite having pick of the litter now - he tossed his hat onto his unmade bed and removed his coat. It was chilly outside, and the palace as a whole was pretty hard to heat when no one was supposed to know he was there. But he could already smell garlic and some kind of game meat wafting from the main kitchens, and he knew Niall had probably been in there a while. He wouldn’t need the extra layers until after lunch.

Like he expected, Niall was tasting something brothy from a pot on the stove when Louis pushed through the ornately carved, swinging wooden doors. Everything made of wood inside the palace had been specially crafted for the royal family when Queen Anne’s father took the throne long before Louis - or his parents, for that matter - were even born. Apparently the furnishings hadn’t been to his immaculate standards, and it had taken a few years, but by the time the queen had had Anne the renovations were finished.

 _How ironic_ , Louis thought, _that the wood was then used to turn half the palace and that king’s heir and her family to ash._

Before that wall he kept carefully lowered lifted any further, Louis slid onto a counter near the stove and let his heels _clunk_ against the cupboards beneath him, willing that wall to slam shut again. Thankfully, it obeyed.

“Niall,” he greeted his friend, leaning to peer into the large pot. “What’s cooking?” He dared to hope.

“Your favorite.”

Louis grinned. “Wonderful. It’s the perfect occasion, too.”

“What is?”

“I’ve got good news, mate. The _best_ news.”

Niall raised a brow and ran a hand first over his stubbly jaw, then through his dark hair. “I don’t like the look on your face. Smells like trouble.”

Undeterred, Louis hopped off the counter. “Does it ever not? I’ll be in the hall.”

“Tell your good news to the ghosts,” Niall called after him. “I don’t wanna hear it!”

Louis’ grin only stretched wider as he pushed back through those fancy wooden doors. He fought the urge he always had to run his fingers over the edges of the carved design, to trace the insignia there. Two thorny roses, their stems crossed at their middles to form an X, skewered at the crux by a narrow dagger. The symbol of the Styles family.

Everything in the old dining hall was covered in a layer of dust that neither Louis nor Niall bothered to remove apart from enough room at the end of the long table for them both to sit and eat. Upkeep was the last thing on their minds here. The stew was delicious as it always was, but Niall’s garlic butter rolls were to die for. They don’t have them often, because bread was hard enough to steal, but garlic? And butter? Louis would say it’s impossible, except Niall manages it once every few months. It’s not that the two items individually were difficult, but to get both at once - that’s the real challenge.

They ate in silence, and Louis had to resist taking seconds. It’s their only meal today, and they’d have to cool it in the cellars in order to make it last the rest of the week. The only other thing Louis had managed to consume was an apple he’d swiped from the unsuspecting old woman manning the fruit stand near the bakery. He’s done it often enough that he’s pretty sure by now she would just give it to him for free, but there’s a thrill in the theft, and he couldn’t seem to give it up.

When Niall finished slurping the contents of his bowl, he set it down and slid it toward the center of the table. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat back in his chair across from Louis and arched a brow again. “So. Tell me this good news of yours.”

Louis cut right to the chase. “We’re getting out of here, Ni. I’ve got a plan.”

Niall only blinked in response. Louis understood; they had no money, have been stealing just to survive and conning when thievery couldn’t suffice, and winter was their worst season. They were good at living this way, at making it this far, but that ease came with experience. They were experienced here, and though Niall wanted to leave Pryvoltov as much as Louis did, he was no fool. It would be the hardest thing they’ve ever attempted. Louis hated that he was at fault for this.

So he’d be the one to get them out. He knew it would always be up to him to figure out, and now he has. He just needed Niall to hear him out.

He continued. “Have you heard the rumors?”

“I hear a lot of rumors. Which one are you on about?”

“That Prince Arrow survived.”

Niall snorted and looked up. “Not you too. You really believe that…gossip? You know that’s all it is, right?”

Louis leaned forward. “Everything is gossip, if you really think about it. Look, just hear me out. The body was never recovered, right? It’s plausible. He could still be out there.”

He hated the way Niall looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “And what, you want to just go out and find him, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what is the point of this conversation?”

Truly, Louis loved his companion, but sometimes he wanted to throttle him. Through gritted teeth, he said, “The point is that whether Arrow actually survived or not, his dear old grandmother is offering a cash reward for his safe return. It’s been fifteen years since the Dark Night, since she last saw him. Surely she can’t know for certain what he’d look like now.”

Finally, Niall’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

Louis’ grin returned. “I think you already know.”

 

~

 

Pryvoltov was teeming with activity when Harry emerged through the back alley he snuck into from his trail to the hills behind the city. It was market day, and though there were often vendors all over downtown, there were more today. Rather than just produce, stalls lined the streets selling weapons and fabric and different medicines and herbs. Harry would never be able to afford any of this stuff, but he tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tried to appear like a curious patron, out to peruse like everybody else.

The streets and sidewalks were packed. Though annoying, it was perfect for moving about mostly undetected. People didn’t often give him a second glance anyway, but this way he didn’t constantly have to act as though he belonged here, as though he lived in one of the town houses nearby. He could hunch his shoulders and drag his dirty boots and no one would look twice at him, raise their noses at his unshapely clothes.

Though he was mostly just here on the look out for somewhere he, Liam, and Zayn could live at little to no cost, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to pick up another day job for a few coppers. It’s not like they didn’t need it. He hated when he had to steal their meals. If he could find a way to pay for it, he did. They had a little saved up back at the house, but he hadn’t brought it along and adding to that amount would only get them that much closer to getting out of here.

Harry ignored the twist in his stomach at the idea of never reaching that goal. They would. _He_ would.

 

~

 

“Louis,” Niall sighed, a hand pressed against his forehead.

“Look, Ni. I’m not saying I buy into anything. But people love a good mystery, and _we_ love a good cash reward and three tickets to get us the fuck out of here. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It’s not that you’re wrong, it’s that you’re insane. Your father will kill you.”

Almost immediately, Louis turned sour. “He won’t catch us. Leave that up to me.”

Niall leaned forward. “There’s a reason these are hush rumors. If the wrong person overhears you going on about it, they’ll turn you in without hesitation, because guess who else is offering cash rewards?”

“I don’t care what my father is or isn’t offering. This isn’t even about him, except that we’ll finally be free of him. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

When Niall rolled his eyes, Louis sat back. He didn’t expect his friend to be so hard to convince, but he’d do it. Hell, if it took him a full week of sitting at this table and rationalizing his plan, he’d do it. It was practically fool proof.

“What if we just go around turning in other people who are spreading this rumor?” Niall suggested, and Louis was already shaking his head. “Think about it - get in your dad’s good graces again, collect the cash, and then hit the road right under his nose. He’s got to have more connections than that punk you’re gonna con down at the ship yard.”

“I’ve spent years buttering Elliot up - following through with everything, doing him favors, the lot. When I ask him for a float out of here, he won’t say no.”

“I like my plan better.”

It was Louis’ turn to roll his eyes. “Of course you do. I’ve been in my father’s good graces exactly once, and I will never willingly return. Look what happened that time.”

Like he hoped he would, Niall darkened and looked away.

“ _This_ way, Elliot gets us out of here - us and whatever Prince Arrow look-alike we can find - and then we have the sea and half of Sávaer to lose anyone who follows before we hole up in Ifi and get the grandmother’s money. Then, we can go anywhere. My father will never find us, Niall.” With a grin, Louis added, “You can finally be rid of me.”

His friend snorted. “Isn’t that the dream.”

“Admit it, Ni. It’s a pretty fucking alright plan.”

Finally, Niall pushed his empty bowl aside and leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table. “Look. It’s decent. But you seem to be forgetting that it takes more than just a Prince Arrow look-alike. The guy is going to have to _act_ the part too, and I don’t know fuck-all about what a prince does or doesn’t act like. I hardly even know anything about the royal family they didn’t teach us in our classes.”

A corner of Louis’ lips turned up, and he raised his arms, gesturing to the room surrounding them. “Good thing we’ve got an entire palace worth of information.” Excitedly, Louis hopped out of his chair and walked around to stand behind Niall’s, gripping his friend’s shoulders and leaning down toward his ear. “As for the personal history stuff, leave that to me.”

Niall stood too, brushing Louis off. “Oh yeah, I forgot you were a Styles family expert.”

“I’m not an expert,” he hissed. Niall hadn’t meant anything by it, but he looked at Louis anyway, who was significantly less chirpy than he was a moment ago. Damn it. “Anyway, let’s go. I’ve got a few guys meeting us in the theatre. Probably already there.”

He made to stalk out of the room - a dramatic exit and all that - but before he even crossed the threshold, he heard Niall mumble under his breath, “We’re holding auditions now?” and before he could successfully storm out, the cold set of his lips dissolved into a grin once more.

 

~

 

Harry was relieved to see that his favorite vendor was alone. She sold fresh fruit normally, and today was no different, only several vendors were selling fresh fruit today and they were much more conveniently located than she was. Her name was Alice, and for as old as she was, Harry has never witnessed keener eyesight. He’s never been able to get away with stealing anything from her, so he stopped trying. Instead, he visits with her, and she gives him an apple for free.

As he approached her, she was sewing a patch onto her skirt. She didn’t look up. Bits of her straw-like silver hair flecked with black hung in her face as she worked, looking like they should be driving her mad although she didn’t appear to pay them any mind. He opened his mouth to greet her, but before he could, she said, “What’s your name today, boy?”

He smiled. “Arrow.”

Normally, he gave her whatever fake name he was using that day. She’d play along with it like she understood, and maybe she did. Maybe she was once in the same place he was, though he found that hard to believe. Liam and Zayn told him stories about Pryvoltov before the Dark Night happened, and though they don’t remember much, they made it seem like a much better place to exist than this.

Today he thought it would be funny to give the old prince’s name. He only knew about the royal family what Liam and Zayn told him, and that wasn’t much, so he assumed they were of as little importance to the Belosi people now as they were to Harry. But to his surprise, her head jerked up and she stared directly at his face, her own wiped clean of any friendliness that was previously there.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Are you out of your mind?”

Alarmed, Harry worried that maybe he was. “Uh…”

“I will ask you once more. What’s your name today, boy?”

He could hardly think in the wake of her sudden anger, so he gave her his real one and hoped she wouldn’t realize. “Harry.”

After peeking at the small crowds nearest them, none of which were close enough to have possibly overheard, she returned her gaze to the half sewn patch on her skirt, and then she reached into her basket of apples and handed him one. “You better run along now.”

“I’m - “ he started, but he was unsure of how to proceed now. He’d intended to come over here and ask her about housing options, but he was afraid of upsetting her further. Maybe he should just leave, just search for something on his own. Then again, she gave him an apple. Perhaps he hadn’t angered her so much as startled her, or…frightened her. “Just one question,” he decided to try.

She didn’t react in any way - including to tell him no - so he continued. “Is there anywhere in the city I could maybe…stay a few nights, undetected? For…little to no cost?”

No need to tell her about Liam and Zayn, or that it’d be for much longer than a few nights.

For a long time, Alice didn’t answer. She sewed her patch on in silence, and Harry feared that she simply wasn’t going to, that he’d unknowingly crossed some line before and there was no coming back from it. But once her patch was fully sewed on and Harry was seconds from turning on his heel and buggering off, the old woman uttered quietly, “See Louis.”

Harry’s ears perked. “Where can I find him?”

“At the old palace.”

The old palace. Harry has seen it in the distance, from atop his hills. He’s glimpsed it whenever he slipped past that old avenue nobody ventured down anymore. Someone was living in there?

“Thank you,” Harry breathed and turned to go.

A grip on his sleeve stopped him. Alice, with wide eyes, added, “You didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“Understood.”

“And here.” Again, Harry watched her reach into her basket and pull out an apple. “Give this to him when you see him and tell him I won’t be in business tomorrow.”

 

~

 

The theatre was covered in a layer of dust that proved to be a struggle for Niall’s sinuses. He couldn’t stop sneezing during the first four auditions, and word had traveled fast like Louis expected it would. He just hoped it hadn’t traveled _too_ fast, or too far. The last thing he needed was his father’s men breathing down his neck tonight. Especially because they weren’t even close to finding their prince.

Apart from the one stage light that happened to have any oil in it and the lamp on Louis and Niall’s little table, the theatre was awash in shadows. Most of the palace was this way, and though it was always a little eerie at first, Louis grew used to it. They never used the theatre - it probably hasn’t been entered since the palace was boarded up - but despite being no stranger to the dark, Louis still preferred to not pay any mind to the part of the enormous, lavish room behind him, the part he couldn’t see. Especially the second level box over his left shoulder.

When the fifth guy finished with the same basic Styles trivia every other potential has spouted so far, Louis raised a hand at the two men waiting in the wings for their turns.

“One moment, fellas,” he said to them. To Niall, he huffed. “We’re never getting out of this goddamn country, are we?”

Niall sniffled. “No. Do you have your handkerchief on ya, by chance?”

Louis dug it out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to him, rubbing a hand over his forehead and down his face. Maybe he’s just being impatient. Who ever said they had to find their Prince Arrow the first day? Of course it would be better to get out of Pryvoltov as soon as possible, but what’s another couple days? Before this morning, they weren’t any closer to leaving than they had been the last half a decade.

Besides, they’ve only seen five men so far. There were plenty more where these fools came from.

Rolling his shoulders and neck, Louis sat up straight and stared down at the next name on his list while Niall blew his nose again.

“Next?”

 

~

 

Harry shouldered through a particularly thick crowd of people surrounding a stall billowing with different floral arrangements. There were all kinds of wildflowers - none that could eclipse the beauty of the ones Harry could find around his own little house in the woods, too far from where the florists ever traveled, but they were pretty all the same. Snowdrops, the national flower, were just beginning to bloom, and though Harry wasn’t exactly paying much attention to them, he’d be hard pressed to spot an arrangement without any of the little white flowers. Now that both the days and the nights were getting cooler, and every other type of flower was wilting for the upcoming winter, people were scrambling to get what they could before all that was left was a whole lot of white.

White flowers, white snow. White marble, cracking. Crumbling.

Harry blinked. He could see the palace now that he was past the flower stall, could see down an empty alley between two townhouses. The avenue he needed was just down that way, the one that would lead him to whoever this Louis person was. And the palace.

It was beautiful. Even from here and even with all the destruction…what was there, what Harry could see, was lovely. And for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer. How could anyone be in there, anyway? Every entrance visible was boarded up, the property gated. Harry’s done his fair share of sneaking around, but he’s never had to climb a fence or crawl under one, and he certainly won’t fit between any of the cast iron bars. How would he get in? How could this _Louis_ get in?

There must be something Harry couldn’t see from here. He knew he had to get closer. He’d never find what he’s looking for until he did. At the very least, he needed to stop standing still. There was nothing that drew attention more on market day than a poorly dressed guy blocking a sidewalk.

He would make a lap. Follow the sidewalk a few blocks, pretend to take interest in the vegetable stalls up ahead, and then double back to slip down the alley without hesitation. Much less conspicuous that way. He tucked his hands into his trousers, dropped his gaze to his boots, and took about three steps before he heard a familiar voice say his name directly behind him.

“H, wait,” Zayn said as Harry turned.

It was no surprise to see Zayn and Liam here. He knew they’d find him eventually, and it wasn’t like he’d been hiding. He just hoped he’d have more solid good news to share before they did. “Hey. Job hunting?”

They wore the same outfits they’d slept in - none of them have had the chance to wash anything in the creek as of late, but now that it’s colder, their clothes aren’t as dirty (boots aside). And anyway, they only have a few outfits between the three of them. Like usual, Zayn was drowning in his overcoat, but Liam had managed to shrink one of the shirts he’d stolen a while back to at least somewhat fit him. The waist of Zayn’s trousers were hidden beneath the coat, but Harry knew they were being held up with a rope, and the legs were cuffed at the bottom to reveal boots in far better shape than Harry’s were.

Because Liam’s clothes fit better, he looked more put together and often had an easier time blending with the townspeople than Zayn and Harry did. His coat was snug, just a hair too short in the sleeves, but a warm, forest green that made his already friendly eyes seem even more approachable.

“No, looking for you,” Liam said. “We were thinking of spending a few coppers on a decent meal. What do you think?”

“Also, are _you_ job hunting?” Zayn added. “You look a little lost.”

“No, I - Well, yeah, I’d take a job if I saw one, but it’s market day and I haven’t seen much of anything on that front. Haven’t really been looking, though, to be honest. And I have an apple, so…I’m good.”

“What are you looking for then?” Liam wondered, his eyes zeroing in on the second apple bulging in Harry’s coat pocket.

“Don’t be mad.”

They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, already gaining attention from the people who have to go around them. Harry sighed and gestured for them to follow him out of the way, and they slipped under an awning in the doorway of a townhouse. He hoped they looked like three normal men having a normal conversation just outside the hustle and bustle going on around them.

“Don’t be mad about what?” Zayn asked, leaning a shoulder against the brick wall beside him, an eyebrow arching upward.

“I’m just…” Harry tried. He’d never talked this over with them and wasn’t even sure if they _wanted_ to leave their house in the woods. They were there before they ever even encountered Harry, and maybe they really loved it. Maybe it was just him who thought living in the city would be better - better for jobs, better for saving money if they can find somewhere for free, better for - as much as he hated to admit it - stealing what they needed.

They wouldn’t be mad, he knew that. It was a stupid request. But they might not want to join him, and if that was the case, he’d just have to be prepared to set off on his own. He loved his friends, but he didn’t belong in this city. He remembered nothing before Liam and Zayn found him all those years ago, but he could feel it in his bones that he belonged elsewhere. Ifi, maybe. Probably. He had to try to get there.

So he continued. “I’m trying to find us a place here to live. For cheap - hopefully for free.”

Zayn snorted, which wasn’t the reaction Harry was expecting. He assumed it wasn’t a good one. “Why would we be mad about that?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if you were really attached to the house.”

“I’m attached to anywhere that supplies a roof over my head and a toilet under my ass. Don’t worry.” As Zayn spoke, Liam nodded along, which was often their dynamic. Liam was just as well-spoken as Zayn was, but Zayn usually knew what to say faster. “Want some help?”

A weight Harry hadn’t realized was there lifted from his shoulders, and he smiled. “You can look around if you want. Or find day jobs, whatever. I’ve got a lead already that I’m going to check out. Meet back at the house in a few hours?”

“Come back with good news,” Liam said, already backing away from their stoop. Zayn followed him, and soon they’d disappeared in the throngs of strangers. Harry tried to follow their retreating figures, but he lost them quickly. So he went on with his original plan: visit the vegetable stall, double back, and on to the palace.

 

 

Harry had no idea how to get inside. He couldn’t even figure out how to get close. He stood before the chained wrought iron gate, which was a lot taller now that he was close enough to grip the bars, and peered through them.

It truly was as grand as it seemed from a distance. He imagined that before the Dark Night, it had been quite the spectacle. Even with the boards and the gates and the soot covering the entire east wing - or what was left of it - there was a regal air here, in this part of Pryvoltov nobody dared to visit anymore. Even the noises from market day could hardly be heard, like the air was thicker…or perhaps enough smoke still lingered, still kept the rest of the city out.

There had to be a way in. If Louis was really here, somewhere inside the palace, then he had to be getting through the gate somehow.

So Harry walked, running a hand along the iron bars as he followed the gate to his right. Toward the east wing. Maybe there’d be enough rubble that way he could climb over, or that he could at least use to break in somehow. The heels of his boots clicked against the stone path, a different click than they usually made on the dirty pavement downtown. He wasn’t positive, but he thought the sound might have even been echoing.

After a moment, he saw that the gate transformed into a different sort of barrier - a stone wall, made of some of the same stone up near the palace front entrances. This wall must have been here before the Dark Night, already part of the courtyard. Now that Harry was thinking about it, he figured it must wrap all the way around the back. It was likely just the iron gate that was new, built onto it when they closed everything down.

The stone wall would be even harder to climb, but…there had to be a break in it. Perhaps hunters or the guard needed a hidden exit out back. Anything.

Finally, when the iron gate ended and the stone wall began, Harry saw it - his way in.

A large portion of the wall had been destroyed, plowed through somehow so all that remained was a large pile of rubble. Harry picked up his pace, anticipation igniting a spring in his step. He navigated his way over the mess, slipping only once (he’ll have a nice bruise on his knee later for that). Once he was completely inside the palace grounds, he would have let himself enjoy the moment, take it all in, but…he wasn’t as gleeful as he could have been.

When Liam and Zayn discovered Harry, it was in the forest outside Pryvoltov about a mile from the house they called home. Even now, all these years later, Harry’s first memory ever was of Liam kicking the bottom of his boot and asking Zayn if _the boy_ was dead. Harry’s second memory was opening his eyes to Zayn squatted beside him, peering into his face.

They took him back to the house, and it had been a long, painful walk. Harry’s head had felt like it weighed fifty pounds alone, and he couldn’t stop coughing. In fact, he didn’t stop coughing for an entire week, and his headache had lasted even longer than that. Once he felt well enough to leave his mattress, Liam and Zayn took him for a walk through the woods to get some fresh air and to get some answers, only Harry didn’t have much of anything for them. No, he didn’t remember how he got in the woods. No, he didn’t know what happened to him, how long he’d been lying there. No, he didn’t know his name, what day or year it was, who was ruling.

 _“That’s a trick question, actually,” Liam snorted._ He and Zayn were both nine at the time, and his sense of humor was a bitter one. _“Nobody’s ruling.”_

_“Yeah,” Zayn mused._

_Harry didn’t say anything, because he didn’t know anything about rulers or royalty, let alone their country’s customs concerning all of it._

_“Few days before we found you, a bunch of rebels stormed the palace and burned it to the ground.”_ This, Harry would come to learn, was a slight exaggeration. Only half of the palace had burned. _“They killed the whole Styles family.”_

_Harry waited a moment to see if the Styles name rang any bells, but he came up blank. “Who were they?”_

_“Wow, you really got nothing up there, huh?” Liam asked, snorting again._

_“They were the royal family,” Zayn answered. “Queen Anne, her husband, and then her two kids, Princess Gemma and Prince Arrow. Plus the rest of her family, everybody who lived in the palace. They killed them all.”_ Also an exaggeration. Not everybody who’d been in the palace had perished, but most of them had, among any Styles sympathizers throughout the city who’d attempted to come to the royal family’s aid.

_Despite knowing nothing about this family or how they ruled or why anyone would want to kill them, Harry felt sad for their loss. “Why?”_

_Both boys shrugged. Liam explained, “Guess nobody wanted them to be in charge anymore. We haven’t been down there since it happened, so I don’t know what’s changed, but the other day from the hill I saw a lot of men on horses and a big crowd on the market street. Maybe they were announcing who the new ruler would be.”_

_And then Harry stumbled over a tree root, caught himself on Zayn’s arm. “Okay?” his new friend asked._

_“Yeah.”_

Looking around the courtyard, Harry tried to imagine people fleeing the palace, being shot on their way out. He wondered how many had survived. The royal family obviously didn’t. But maybe some courtesans or servants got out, members of the royal guard. He hoped they had. He wondered where they were now.

So Harry didn’t sit there any longer to take it all in. He couldn’t. He quickened his pace, scanning what was left of the east wing for a way inside, but there didn’t appear to be one. He changed course and went to see if he couldn’t do something about those boarded up front entrances.

They weren’t boarded up very well, he was glad to discover. If he cupped his hands around some crevices between boards, he could see inside. Barely. It was too dark. Pulling away, he looked again at the wood - it was clearly aged, maybe even weak. Harry decided to test his luck and gave it a tug, but apart from a few soft groans, the boards didn’t do anything. So he tried something else and landed a drop kick directly in the center of two.

To his immense surprise, because he’s never been exceptionally strong, it worked. The boards split in half and fell away, so he kicked a few more until there was a gap large enough for him to squeeze through.

Almost as soon as he was safely inside, he sneezed. Dust danced everywhere, invisible where the sun didn’t reach but definitely there. As well as the air around him, everything was covered - the mighty oak staircase that looked to be sagging a little halfway up, the deep plum drapes hanging uselessly along the front wall, the enormous portraits of previous queens and kings to his right. All blanketed in a thick layer of gray, muting what otherwise might have been a vibrant, colorful grand entrance hall. Even the elegant forest green rug beneath his feet looked as though it hadn’t seen use in years.

When Harry’s eyes stopped watering, he moved further inside. Apart from the dust, the air had significantly changed from outside. The quiet was almost eerie, but… Sometimes Harry wondered if he could hear, or perhaps _feel,_ echoes of the past. It wasn’t as quiet as it first seemed. There was…something about this place.

He began climbing the staircase, aware that it could potentially cave in on him, and there was no doubt in his mind he had never been here before. Still, he wasn’t sure why running his hand along the dusty banister, why the sound of his boots clipping against the purple and gold carpet felt like a memory from a dream, but…there was something he couldn’t explain about any of this.

All he knew was that he could feel a subtle panic begin to settle in the pit of his stomach the longer he was here. He needed to find this Louis person and find him stat so that he could find Liam, Zayn, and himself a new place to live. He just hoped all of this wouldn’t be in vain.

“Hello?” he called out, not nearly as loud as he wanted to be. To his surprise, he was afraid to shout. Afraid he’d wake a ghost.

At the top of the stairs, he was met with a set of giant oak doors, ornately carved with purposeful designs that Harry didn’t attempt to decipher. He refused to linger any longer. “Hello?”

Most of the second floor was littered with smaller doorways, all with their doors closed. If anybody was inside them, Harry hoped they’d have heard him already. He had no idea where he was going, but he hoped the large set of doors would lead him in the right direction. Putting his shoulder into it, he shoved one open.

It was harder than it looked, and it took a moment before Harry could slip through. And though he hadn’t opened it far, the amount he moved it resulted in an alarmingly loud groan. It was especially loud because Harry had just entered a ballroom. The wooden door’s groan bounced around the entire room, and if it didn’t reach Louis wherever he was, Harry wasn’t sure anything would.

Still, even though this is what Harry couldn’t make his own voice do, he winced at the sound.

He didn’t bother descending this second staircase, didn’t bother paying the ballroom floor much mind. He wanted to remain on this second level, close to the exit, close to more portraits that hung at eye level now, all along the ballroom’s balcony. As much as he wanted to be in and out of here as quickly as possible, curiosity got the better of him, and Harry began to wander.

He began with the nearest portrait to his left. The giant, intricate, beautiful frames circled the entire ceiling, but the only ones Harry would be able to get a close look at were the ones to his left, as the balcony only went this way. This first portrait was of a couple, the woman dressed in an elegant, eggshell white and gold robe while the man wore a general’s uniform. The next one was of a family, three daughters and two young sons with their parents, the girls in matching pink dresses and the boys in matching gray suits.

After many more portraits of people Harry would never know, he reached the last one before a another set of big oak doors. He had seen this one before, smaller versions of it in some textbooks Liam had stolen once when they were all younger and desired to be somewhat educated. There was also a print of it - larger than the textbook versions, but not nearly as big or as grand as this one - hung in one of the old cathedrals Harry had snuck into once or twice downtown.

It was the Styles family. Queen Anne sat at the center, draped in a deep purple gown. Behind her, King Orvel, a hand on her shoulder. She had reached up to touch his fingers, and Harry tried not to think about how intimate the pose seemed in comparison to many of the others he’d just viewed. To their right, Princess Gemma, the eldest of their two children. She looked to be only eight or nine here. And then to their left, holding the queen’s other hand, was their youngest. Prince Arrow.

From those textbooks, Harry knew that if Gemma was eight here, then Arrow was just five. He was the only one of the four of them to offer a genuine smile; the others looked to only have lifted the corners of their mouths, and really, that’s being generous. The patience he must have had, sitting there and smiling at the artist for however long it took to create such a masterpiece.

Unable to help himself, Harry reached out to run his fingertips over their faces. There was so much dust…

“Look, if you’re going to snoop around, at least ring the doorbell first.”

If it were possible, Harry was sure he would have jumped right out of his skin. As it was, he yanked himself away from the portrait so abruptly that he nearly tripped over his own feet, a hand instinctively flying to his throat rather than to help him catch his balance.

When was sure he wouldn’t fall over, Harry looked toward the source of his heart attack and found two strangers there, in front of the second set of large doors. One kept his messy brown hair somewhat short and pushed out his face, like he combed it back with his fingers so often that it naturally stayed that way. His blue eyes were made bluer somehow by the dark stubble along his jaw, and he dressed like at one point in his lifetime he’d been rather wealthy. His jacket and trousers were nice, but old. Worn.

The second was smaller, though neither were particularly large. But this one stood an inch or two shorter than the first, and his jaw was clean of any facial hair. His brown hair was shaggier, a slightly lighter brown than the other one’s and messier, like he’d been wearing a hat all day and recently removed it or just didn’t care about combing it, even with his own fingers. Faint smudges of gray-purple dotted the soft skin beneath his own blue eyes. And he looked just as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see him, even though one of these guys must be the Louis he’d been searching for.

“Sorry if we startled you,” the taller one said, and Harry realized he wasn’t who’d spoken originally. “It’s just. Don’t normally have visitors.”

Now that the initial fright had passed, Harry swallowed whatever nerves had remained and glanced around. “I can tell. Why take a feather duster to the place if nobody ever sees it, right?”

Finally, the shorter one seemed to shake himself out of whatever shock had come over him and snorted. “Nice. Come into our home and insult it.”

“I’m looking for Louis. Are either of you him?”

“Depends,” the shorter one shrugged. His voice was a little higher than the other’s, a little scratchier. “What do you want with him?”

Harry figured it was fair that they’d be elusive - he was a stranger to them after all - but he hoped this little act wouldn’t go on for long. “I was told you could help me.”

It was the shorter one. He seemed to be in charge here. If Harry had to put any money on it, he’d guess this one was Louis.

“Well, my help won’t come cheap. I don’t know who sent you, but - “

Harry pulled the apple out of his pocket and tossed it. With expert reflexes, Louis caught it in one hand and stared at it.

“Will that cover it? She says she’ll be out of business tomorrow, by the way.”

Louis didn’t say anything, but the other guy chuckled, ducking his chin into his neck. Harry figured Louis wasn’t often rendered speechless and hoped that would be a good thing rather than a bad thing in this instance, because he would give anything for this to work out.

“How did you get in here anyway?” the other guy asked.

“I kicked a few…” Louis had begun to slowly walk around Harry, his arms folded across his chest. Appraising him. “What are you doing?”

Like he’d flipped a switch, Louis froze, meeting Harry’s gaze. And then he took a few steps toward him, a hand outstretched. “Sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Louis. And you are?”

Harry raised a brow and considered which name he’d give this time, but he was too confused to think very long about it. “Harry.” Then he looked to the other one. “Is he always like this?”

The guy lifted a shoulder, clearly amused. But there was something in his eyes - the same gleam in Louis’ - that made Harry struggle to believe a single word that came out of either of these guys’ mouths. “Depends on the day.”

“And who’s trying to make my acquaintance,” Louis added, still waiting for Harry to take his hand.

Against his better judgement, he did, and though Louis’ hand was small, his grip was firm. “Lucky me.”

When Harry pulled away, he noticed that Louis’ gaze was flickering between Harry’s and something over his shoulder. So Harry looked, but all that was there was the Styles family portrait. No wonder these guys lived in isolation. Sucking in a breath, he turned back to face the strange men. “Anyway.”

“Sorry,” Louis laughed - an airy chuckle. “What can I do for you?”

“I was told you could help me find some place to live in the city. I need…something really cheap, or - preferably - free. My mates and I, we live - “ It suddenly occurred to Harry that he probably shouldn’t give this information away. “Well, our house is falling apart, and we’d like to be closer to downtown for…money purposes.”

“Money purposes?”

“Making money. Those purposes.”

Louis’ chin raised in understanding. “Ah. So you’re looking for lodging.”

“Yeah. For me and my two housemates. Three of us.”

The other guy - whose name Harry still didn’t know - took a few steps forward to finally join them, and for some reason, Harry felt more comfortable this way. He still wasn’t entirely sure Louis was completely _there_ , and while this other guy hasn’t made much sense either, he at least had a stable presence. Harry wasn’t worried he’d start circling him like a vulture or anything.

“Three of you,” Louis murmured, lost in thought. “Right.”

“You know,” the other one blurted, “I’ve got to say. You bear an awful strong resemblance to - “

Thanks to a swift elbow jab to the chest from Louis, the guy stopped speaking. He hissed instead, throwing his friend a confused look before rubbing the spot near his sternum tenderly.

“Look,” Louis said, “Harry. We’d love to help you, but we’re actually leaving town. Leaving Belos, in fact. And I’m not much help when I can’t be hands on, so…I’m afraid I’ll have to wish you luck and send you on your way. You’re welcome to the palace once we’re gone, of course. I can show you how to get in without kicking anything.”

Harry felt like the floor had dropped beneath him. He’d risked a lot sneaking into this palace, wandered the giant, unfamiliar tomb in search of a stranger - and his friend, as it turns out - just for neither of them to be of any use? There was no way they could live in this palace. Even being in this ballroom for so long has caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand.

“But…you’re leaving? How? I thought they were closing borders - “

“I have my ways. We’ve got three tickets out of here on the first ship to Ifi, and I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t stick around this miserable dump of a city for anything.”

This information was nothing Harry expected to learn. He could turn them in! The cash reward he’d receive for alerting authorities of three men trying to leave the country - wait. “Three?”

Louis was having a silent conversation with his friend. Still, he answered Harry’s question. “Yeah. One for me, one for Niall here, and one for Prince Arrow.”

Harry had no idea what to say to this at first. He seriously debated making a run for it; there’s no way either of these guys were sane. But once again, curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped aside so that he could turn toward the portrait behind him. Truly baffled, he pointed to the five-year-old boy clinging to his mother’s hand and looked determinedly back at Louis. “ _This_ Prince Arrow? The one who was murdered with the rest of his family fifteen years ago?”

He thought for a second that Louis winced, but he couldn’t be sure.

“His body was never recovered. Haven’t you heard the rumors? People think he survived,” Niall said.

Harry was reeling. “But…what’s in Ifi? Why do you want to take him there?”

If Louis had reacted negatively to what Harry said before, he was over it now. “The Dowager Queen, the only family he has left, is looking for him, and as the upstanding Belosi citizens we are, we want to return him to her. What’s it to you?”

“I just… Ifi, wow.”

“You’ve been?” Niall asked.

“I wish. I just…I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Beautiful city. I’ve been once myself.”

Louis waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, it’s lovely. Look, Harry. I don’t want to kick you out or anything - feel free to wander the place as long as you’d like - but we’ve got to run. We’ve got to go find our prince.”

Harry rubbed a hand across his forehead. “You haven’t found him? You’re just going off a rumor?”

“He’s in the city somewhere, mate,” Niall shrugged.

“But…”

“You don’t happen to know anyone who looks remarkably similar to that boy in the portrait behind you, do you? Yourself aside?”

At this, Harry almost had to do a double take. His eyes flickered to the portrait, to the smiling green eyes that _did_ look a little like his own, then back to Louis and Niall’s patient, expectant faces. He stabbed a finger at his own chest. “ _Me_?”

Louis raised a brow. “Well…yeah. Look at you. Anne’s hair.”

Niall stepped forward, leaning into Harry’s space, far too close to his face. “Orvel’s nose, the green eyes.”

“I bet if you’d smile, the dimple,” Louis added quietly, a small tilt to his head.

Everything these guys have said since Harry encountered them began racing through his head. This was mad. Nothing about any of this made sense. What were they suggesting? That _he_ was the lost prince? The one who’s probably dead?

“No offense,” Harry finally mustered, “but you’re both mental. Prince Arrow _died_. And I woke up in a forest with a headache that lasted an entire week and have been dirt poor since then. I don’t know anybody who looks like that kid in the portrait, but I do know that _I’m_ not him.”

“What about before?” Louis asked, still quiet. Soft. Something had shifted for him, and Harry didn’t understand what, but he was less urgent, less…difficult.

“Before what?”

“Before you woke up in the woods.”

“I can’t remember.”

Niall blinked. “What?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t remember anything before then. I don’t even really know how old I am. I didn’t know my name, where I came from, what day or year it was. My housemates found me, they caught me up on the Dark Night, and then we watched from afar while Belos became the hellhole it is now.”

The scheming glint in Louis’ eyes caused a shiver to slither down Harry’s spine. “So you’ve no clue what happened to you before that day you woke in the woods, and nobody knows what happened to Prince Arrow’s body - alive or dead - after the Dark Night. Little strange, no?”

“It’s a coincidence,” Harry nearly spat. “Don’t you hear yourself? Do I look like a prince to you?”

Louis’ eyes slipped from Harry’s face to his toes and back as he said, “Yes, you do. Very much.”

“ _That_ prince,” Niall added, jerking his chin toward the portrait.

“Okay, so? Your point? What does it matter if I look like him?”

“Well, I _did_ say our third ticket to Ifi is for Arrow. If you’re Arrow, then…”

Louis splayed his hands like the rest of that thought was obvious, and Harry guessed it was. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. So he sat on it for a moment, chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stared at the portrait of the smiling lost prince.

He wasn’t Arrow, that much he knew to be absolutely true. Whatever happened to him before he woke in the woods had nothing to do with the royal family, other than that he likely became separated from the rest of his family during the chaos of the Dark Night. He woke up in rags no nicer than anything Liam and Zayn wore - _nothing_ like the garb a prince would have worn the night of a celebration for his family’s 300th anniversary of their reign.

But he could play the role, at least until he got to Ifi. Then he could be free, could find whoever might be waiting for him there. Whoever gave him the necklace. It was crazy, and Louis and Niall were crazy, but it might be crazy enough to work.

Harry sighed, grabbing the attention of both men once again. They’d been silently communicating again, and Louis looked impatient, like he was ready to leave Harry where he stood and get back to their hunt for the lost prince.

“I think I have…somebody waiting for me there. In Ifi. It’s why I’ve always wanted to go there.”

Niall set a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “His only family is in Ifi, you know. That’s quite the coincidence.”

Harry swallowed. “Yeah. I mean. Who’s to say you’re wrong? Maybe I am…Prince Arrow.” He looked to the portrait again. Looked into the five-year-old’s eyes. His eyes? No. Just green eyes, like his own, but not the same. “And if I’m not, this Dowager Queen or whoever is looking for him will know, right? It’ll just be an honest mistake.”

That scheme-y glint in Louis’ eyes only grew stronger.

“Exactly,” Niall affirmed. “And if it’s not, if you’re really the prince, then you’ll have found your family. And she’ll have found you.”

Though Harry still didn’t believe he was related in any way to the Dowager Queen, he felt a small smile bloom on his own face at the thought of making an old woman who lost her entire family happy again. “Right.”

“There it is,” Louis said quietly. “The dimple.”

“So you’re in?” Niall asked, holding out a hand.

This felt like it had the potential to be the worst decision he’s ever made or the best one, and unfortunately, he won’t know until it’s too late to turn it around. Instinctively, he wanted to pull out the ship hanging around his neck from beneath his shirt, rub his thumb over the word engraved onto the back. But he wanted to keep that to himself for now, didn’t want to share that with these guys.

He took Niall’s hand. “I’m in. But I have to tell my housemates.”

Louis stepped forward and held out a hand as well. When Harry took it, matching Louis’ intimidating stare with hopefully one of his own, Louis said, “We leave at dawn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quick geographical pronunciation guide:
> 
> Pryvoltov (priv-ull-tuv)  
> Belos (beh-los)  
> Ifi (ee-fee)  
> Sávaer (sah-vare)
> 
> (I'm endlessly amused that Pryvoltov has the same syllable count as Petersburg and can therefore fit into the song "My Petersburg" as a replacement but I didn't do that on purpose. I wish I had.)
> 
> And to help with clarity if I don't do a good enough job of it in the story: Pryvoltov is the capital city of Belos, and Ifi is the capital city of Sávaer. You'll learn more about all of these places as the story goes on. My history buff friend helped me create an entire history surrounding this world, and I'm excited to share it with you.
> 
> 11/15/18: As of now, this work is unedited/unbeta-ed. When/if this changes, I'll edit that into this note.


End file.
